


Through The Lense

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia needs a job while being in university.<br/>Allison needs a model.<br/>Can I make it anymore obvious?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through The Lense

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Femslash February 2016, based on the idea of an Artist!AU

Lydia didn’t expect that she would need a job while studying.

Oh, she has the scholarship, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t pay for rent, or for food, or for the occasional drinks with her classmates.

Back when she was a Senior, she had hoped that her father’s finances would go back to what they were.

Except they didn’t.

So here she is, looking at the board in the Student center, looking for job offers and pondering her options.

She supposes she  _ could _ serve coffee twice a week, but would that really make a difference, economically speaking? And more importantly, would it be worth the harassment from caffeine deprived peasants?

Next.

She  _ could _ work at the library, but no, she’s been there--she knows that if she steps in it in a professional capacity, the urge to reform everything around the place will be too strong and she will be either fired or promoted, and she doesn’t have the time to work there full-time.

Damn--next.

Now that’s interesting.

Modeling.

For an artist that only signs “Argent.”

Hm.

Lydia checks their portfolio--nifty little link at the bottom of the ad, Lydia tips her hat to the artist for thinking of it--and yes, she can see herself featured in that light.

Black and white  [ photography ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/0a/59/68/0a5968d16d8aab5b5a8ba8d36c443159.jpg) , enhanced with watercolors.

Stiles always said that she would end being a muse, didn’t he?

\---

Allison didn’t expect anyone to reply to her message on the board.

After all, who accepts to pause for someone just because their art is good-ish?

Ms. Martin, apparently, and Allison is nervously pacing around her studio, waiting for the model with the soft, entrancing voice to arrive.

She makes random checks to make sure that her radiator is working--it does--or that she didn’t forget to change the sheet where Ms. Martin is going to sit--she didn’t--or that the silk robe she has at the ready for between poses is not too crumpling--it’s not.

When a knock on the door disturbs her while she’s once again changing the way the sheet falls over the chair to get it  _ just so _ , Allison almost grumbles in annoyance.

And then she remembers that she does wait for someone.

Someone who is knocking on her door.

Again.

_Shit_.

Allison rushes to the door, reaching for her braid to soothe herself.

She checks her  [ clothes  ](http://stealherstyle.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/crystal-reed-outfit-1.jpg) one more time--buttons properly closed, no stain on her pants, good--before opening the door.

Her breath catches in her throat at the … Pre Raphaelite  [ vision  ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5a/31/ff/5a31ff24b6206c7408967b7d59d0b08c.jpg) that is standing on her threshold.

“Ms. Martin?” she manages to say without choking on air, and the young woman smiles a dazzling smile before holding her hand up.

“Lydia Martin,” she introduces herself. “And you are … Argent?”

Her French accent is flawless and Allison is not even ashamed to admit that that’s when she starts swooning.

“Allison Argent, hi,” Allison replies, shaking Lydia’s hand.

Lydia walks into the studio, and Allison immediately understands a couple of things about her new model.

One, she is far more observant than she would have Allison believe, her eyes darting all over the room as she takes off her jacket and bag.

Two, she is going to inspire so many pictures that Allison’s fingers are already twitching to pick up the Polaroid camera she always keeps on a shelf near the entrance--just in case.

Three, she will probably be the one to break Allison’s cardinal rule of not mixing up her art and her sex life.

_ Then again, so many artists bedded their muses in the past, maybe there is something to it? _

“We match,” Lydia comments and Allison looks at her owlishly for a couple of seconds, just enough for Lydia to let out a short if powerful laugh. “Our braids.”

Allison looks between them and beams at Lydia, delighted to see two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. “We do, you’re absolutely right. Must be a good sign, isn’t it?”

Lydia gives her a calculating look, her smile turning crooked. “Must be.”

\---

Lydia is fascinated by Allison while she works around her.

Her only instruction was to keep looking at the window, no matter what, but her eyes follow Allison around the room whenever she steps into Lydia’s line of vision.

And it’s not merely photography she’s observing being made.

No, it feels like Allison handles the camera like a very sharp weapon, aiming, holding her breath and snapping whatever she spotted within the lense.

The pictures in Allison’s portfolio showed as much, but it’s completely different to see it in action.

To see it aimed at herself, really.

Every click of the shutter feels like a caress on her skin--her bare arms and legs and throat at least.

Every time Allison looks up from her camera to frown and find a different angle, a different light, Lydia feels like the photographer is seeing through her very soul.

When Allison reaches to carefully arrange Lydia’s shirt just so in her back, Lydia has to control herself carefully to avoid following her instinct.

Which is to lean into the touch of the delicate fingers.

Allison clears her throat, and Lydia looks away from the window to give her her full attention.

She’s surprised to see the brunette blushing, but she waits for her to express her command.

“Now if you could just, um,” Allison starts, fiddling with a camera, “just take off your top and let your braid down your, your b-back?”

Lydia knew that it could happen, but given her sudden attraction for the artist, she just wishes that her blush is not too obvious when she pulls her shirt off, shaking her head to shake the static off her hair before pushing the braid over her shoulder, the knot of it bouncing against her back.

“Like that?” she asks, folding one leg to rest her cheek against her knee, comfortable in this moment.

“Don’t. Move.”

Allison’s voice is soft and slightly distant, like her mind is elsewhere--behind the camera, namely.

Lydia keeps her eyes on her this time, since it’s the way she sat when Allison ordered her to freeze, and there is electricity in the air between them, which only intensifies when Allison steps closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Close enough for the hem of her jacket to brush against Lydia’s forearm, and she can’t help a small shiver.

“Are you cold?” 

Allison whispers the words, still hidden behind her camera, and Lydia goes to shake her head before reminding herself of the earlier command.

“No,” she replies just as softly, her eyes finding Allison’s.

There is a moment of silence between them, loaded with the previous electricity and something else, something that is trapping Lydia in that parenthesis and she doesn’t want it to end.

Allison finally removes the camera completely, her arm dropping alongside her body, and Lydia looks at her down and back up.

Just in time for Allison to brush the tip of her fingers against one of Lydia’s stray strands of hair.

“I never--,” she starts, voice barely audible as she traces Lydia’s cheek, her jaw, her neck. “Would you--?”

This time around, Lydia leans into Allison’s touch before nodding.

Accepting what, she doesn’t know for sure, but for once in her life, the unknown is not scaring or frustrating Lydia as much as she thought it would.

Not when the unknown happens to have Allison Argent’s face.


End file.
